


Paradigm Shift

by EvilDime



Series: (Un)necessary fix-its [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protectiveness, Role Reversal, Shower Sex, World War II, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilDime/pseuds/EvilDime
Summary: Some time after the events of Acceptable Loss, Sergeant Meadows overhears Rogers, Jones and Dugan in the showers.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Acceptable Loss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286544) by [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill). 
  * Inspired by [4F](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316277) by [stoatsandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoatsandwich/pseuds/stoatsandwich). 



> This ficlet is part of the 4F verse created by stoatsandwich and is based on (and directly follows the events of) Acceptable Loss by BrighteyedJill. It probably won't make much sense if you haven't read any of that.  
> Also, the story references [this 4F art](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/127723433083/unapologetic-4f-noncon-trash) by thefilthiestpiglet (NSFW, noncon). 
> 
> Be warned that consent is dubious at best in this 'verse, and consequently also in this ficlet. 
> 
> A big thank you to thefilthiestpiglet for looking this over and making some suggestions. I hope the result works for you. :)
> 
> ETA 18.04.2017: Added this to the fix-it series since it kind-of-sort-of fits in there, providing closure after a traumatic event. Within the parameters of 4F verse, though, Acceptable Loss is NOT the kind of evil on par with the other fics my 'fix-its' refer to. So don't let either keep you from reading the other. :P

Sergeant Meadows was exhausted. They'd run a difficult mission, all of them were dead on their feet when they arrived in town, and then he'd had to go petition the top brass for a cause he personally hated.

Yes, it had been fun and relaxing to have the Howling Commandos' pro-boy around. But he'd meant every word he'd said to the Rogers kid: They didn't need to be hauling around a sickly non-combatant on dangerous missions in enemy territory. He didn't know how Barnes's unit did it, but to him it seemed plain suicidal.

Only his unit disagreed. The men had unanimously declared themselves willing to carry some extra weight, pull some extra tasks, if it meant having their own prophylactic auxiliary along. The two weeks at Toul-Croix de Metz had obviously spoiled them. However, they _had_ been wildly successful  in the three months since, and he would be the first to admit they had earned a reward. Asking for a field pro was well within their rights; of course, he could still hope there wasn't one willing to tag along with them, but he had no excuse not to ask. 

So he had asked, and it had turned out that while none were  _willing_ to head out into danger with them, there was one girl that had earned herself a punishment for disobedience;  when forced to pick between incarceration or going into the field, she'd decided to go with them.

Great.  Just what he needed. A disobedient wench who'd slow them down, probably get them all killed before the month was out, and who didn't even want to be there. 

At least the Rogers kid had signed up of his own free will. Meadows would never understand how anyone could volunteer to get their ass reamed and their throat fucked by several dozen people a day, and smack in the middle of enemy territory no less, but then he wasn't a fairy. Rogers never looked like he was particularly enjoying himself, but he probably just held it back thinking the men wouldn't like it if he were too enthusiastic. 

A girl who actively hated her placement, though... He frowned. He wasn't sure he'd ever avail himself of this Gloria's services. While she might have voluntarily signed up as a prophylactic auxiliary, she hadn't volunteered to be with his unit  in imminent danger, and she'd probably end up hating them  for requisitioning her. Using her would feel... wrong.

Arriving at the showers - finally! -, he tried to shrug off his discomfort. It was what it was, and he'd have to pick the girl up tomorrow. They would make do, somehow. It would make his men happy; there was that, at least. Seeing how they'd lost two of their  number a week ago, they could certainly use the morale booster. 

Sighing, he shrugged out of his uniform. At this time of night, he was sure to have the showers to himself. They were nice showers, at that: His unit  was stationed along with several others in a  repurposed private school with seriously fancy showers. They even had  dividing walls between the stalls. Not that he cared, since no-one would be there right now - 

Except for the men apparently sharing  a shower and being pretty vocal about it, too. Obviously, he was not the only one who thought no-one else would use the showers at this  late an hour.

Meadows briefly considered making himself heard to stop those men from fornicating; apart from the pro-boys, sexual relations between men were still not allowed in the army.  They were in violation of  the law and he'd have to drag them before their commanding officers for it. 

He was tired, though, and so very ready to just hit his bed. A real bed, they'd promised him, in a single room. It sounded like heaven.

So ultimately, he just quietly turned on his own shower, inaudible over the noises from the next stall over, and started washing. As the blessed warm water soothed his cramped muscles, he listened to the conversation from across the divider.

"You done yet, Dum Dum?" 

"Shut your face, Gabe. You'll get your turn."

"Yeah, once this big lug has gotten off me," a third voice offered. The sentence ended in an exaggerated yawn. "Dugan, I'm about ready to keel over here. You sure you can't hurry up a little?"

"Cheeky little shit."

The slapping noises increased, but rather than anger, Dugan's voice had conveyed nothing but amusement.

Meadows stilled. He knew those names. No-one had told him the Howling Commandos were one of the units stationed here. And that  teasing  voice  with the yawn  sounded a lot like Rogers.  He could not picture the correct, obedient  pro-boy  giving anyone lip like that, though.  Maybe he had misheard?

The noises changed, Dugan seemed to have finished, and there was some commotion that indicated actual washing going on in the neighboring stall.

"You look so adorable with your hair all gelled up."

"I hate you, Jones."

More laughter followed. Then Jones's  mock-hurt  voice: "Really? So you don't want me anywhere near you, then?"

Meadows could practically hear the eye-roll through Rogers's words. "Don't be ridiculous, Jones. Of course you can have me, it's your turn after a- ack." The aborted sentence was followed by a startled breath, then a furtive moan.

"C'mon, we know you can moan better than that, Rogers. Do it like a pro." That was Dugan.

"But," Rogers ignored Dugan in order to protest, "this is all wrong-way 'round!"

Jones didn't answer. It appeared he may not presently be able to. Instead, Dugan carried on the conversation: "What, is Sarge the only one who gets to make you scream?"

"'course not," Rogers gasped, "you all do.  But you don't need to do _this_!"

"Rogers, you're so full of shit." Dugan's tone was as rough as the comics suggested. And yet there was a fond note to his voice when he said: "Can't you just accept that Gabe here wants to do a nice thing for you?"

"But that's  _my_ job!" Outrage was clear amongst the confusion in Rogers's voice. Meadows had zero doubts at this point: This absolutely was the overly assiduous, stubborn pro-boy he'd met in Toul-Croix de Metz.  He slowly, quietly turned off his own shower and reached for the soap.

"Your job, and our pleasure."

"'s not supposed to be _pleasant._ "

"Sure it is. Fucking your pretty hole and mouth is awfully nice. For us, anyway. Why not for you?"

"I didn't come here for  _pleasure_ and you know it," Rogers hissed. Meadows stopped soaping his legs and stood up to listen closer. 

There was a slopping noise before Jones made his voice heard again. "We know," he soothed. "4F. Shame that's all they saw in you."

Rogers's breath slowed a little; it seemed that Jones ranked this discussion higher than his previous occupation.

"Those pretty boys back at home that decided you were too weak to serve clearly spent too much time sticking their heads up their mothers' assholes to see straight," Dugan threw in. His voice sounded a bit muffled, and Meadows couldn't help imagining him wrapped around Rogers's back, pressing his lips to the slim boy's nape.  "I'm sure they wouldn't be able to kill six Squids by their little lonesome armed with only a pocket knife and their bare ass."  A smack rang out, presumably from a hand hitting said body part. 

Meadows  nearly scoffed out loud. Ridiculous to think that an untrained whore, pardon his French, would defeat trained enemy soldiers in hand-to-hand combat.  But then Rogers's reaction made him wonder again.

"Shut up already," Rogers whined, deeply embarrassed by the sound of it. "'m nothing special."

"Says the man who exploded a base full of them with a grenade they'd put in  his ass themselves after  he played Trojan horse."

Say what?

"That was fuckin' A, as the Sarge said," Jones chimed in, confirming the story. Did they know he was listening, Meadows wondered, and were just laying it on thick for the audience? Although, this hand grenade story was just that little bit too crazy for anyone to make up.

"Well, 's not like I could let you touch that filthy thing after where it'd been," Rogers said, sounding a bit miffed.

He could actually see Rogers be stoic enough for this kind of shit.

The other men sniggered. "We've all been where that grenade came from, Rogers."

"Ain't that the truth." Rogers sounded fond as he said it, despite the snort that accompanied the words. Meadows wavered. Body count. Truth or lie?

"Still, don't think the Sergeant will ever let you pull a stunt like that bait routine again." Jones sounded serious all of a sudden. "Not after Toul-Croix de Metz."

Had Meadows not stood at attention already, those words certainly would have frozen him.

"Will you drop it already?" Rogers  griped in  the next stall. "It's fine, I was fine,  I  _am_ fine,  there's no need to go all protective mother hens on me for the rest of the war, alright?"

"You were supposed to be on fuckin' furlough," Dugan rumbled. "Instead, we got you back bruised, starved and flinching like a feral dog. That _alright_ in your book?"

Furlough. Rogers, on furlough. That _couldn't_ possibly be right. Could it? He remembered the men lining up in front of Rogers's hut before the sun peaked over the horizon, and the evening lines not having cleared when he came past on the way to midnight watch.

He also remembered wondering when Rogers had time to eat and how much sleep he actually got, then forgetting about it again as more important matters came up. The man had two legs for a reason, he could always come find him and tell him if his workload was too much. Or so he'd thought. 

"Nothing was broken. Nothing even needed fixing. They didn't  do anything to me they shouldn't have," Rogers stubbornly insisted.  "I don't-"

"Look," Jones interrupted Rogers's angry reply. "You're okay with being shoved around like a cheap piece of equipment. Fine. But Rogers, it don't work like that for the rest of us. You've been with us this long. You should know people don't get to bother one of us without the rest stepping in, alright?"

Rogers sounded a bit choked up when he answered. "'right." There was a second of loaded silence during which Meadows was left to contemplate his own perception of prophylactic auxiliaries.

Rogers apparently didn't like the silence one bit, though, because he hurried to break it. "So are you getting back to that, Jones, or should we  swap  places?"

The lip was back. All three men laughed,  Dugan made a lewd joke, the discussion was over.  As the slurping noises and Rogers's moans picked up again, Meadows hurriedly finished his shower and slunk out of the building unnoticed. 

Despite the comfortable bed, he barely slept that night.

* * *

"Gloria Weston?" Meadows looked at the tiny brunette stood rigidly next to Captain Smith. The girl kept her head down as the Captain pushed her forward. "I'm Sergeant Meadows.  Follow me."

She  obeyed  wordlessly as he turned to walk back to their part of the school. After they'd turned a couple of corners, he slowed his steps and  waved her  closer to walk next to him. 

"Welcome to our unit,  Miss," he said with a sideways glance.

"Thank you." Her stony face softened  a surprised fraction  and he felt the pleasant warmth of accomplishment blooming in the pit of his stomach. He swore to himself he would not fail this one.

"So tell me, Ms. Weston, where are you from?"


End file.
